Bitter Work
by killerkumquat
Summary: In the midst of Ganondorf's dark rule, Malon finds her part to play.


**Alright everyone. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and I have no idea how it's going to turn out, or even how long I'll keep it going. I honestly don't have much confidence in my ability to handle any kind of plot, but I feel motivated for once and I've been wanting a story like this for ages, so. Here goes nothing.**

**Note that this is an AU of sorts where Sheik is an individual, separate from Zelda, and a man.**

* * *

Everything had changed so quickly.

Malon hadn't even known that Ganondorf had murdered the king and driven out the princess when Ingo suddenly took control of the ranch and forced her father to leave. At first the confusion had been the most of her worries, but soon enough fear took its place, and it was all she could do to keep from running away.

And oh, Goddesses, how she wanted to run. She wanted to go with her father, to be safe with her only family instead of working her fingers to the bone for a greedy drunken madman. But she couldn't leave the ranch. It was her home, her family's home for generations, and an important part of Hyrule's economy - not to mention she cared for all of the animals as close childhood friends and confidants. Someone had to be responsible for it, and that had always fallen to her anyway, hadn't it? Even if everything else was different, her duties were the same as always.

Feed the animals. Train the horses. Milk the cows. Collect the cuccoos' eggs. Cook and scrub and mend, sweep and stoke and store. A million other little tasks throughout the day, so many that sometimes it made her dizzy to try and think about it all at once.

And Ingo demanded she do it all, by herself, on less than half the portions she used to eat for each meal, and one less meal a day. She was barred from the house except to prepare his meals and clean up after him, and perhaps the occasional bit of maintenance, so she slept in the barn. Rain, sleet or snow, she kept her animal friends company, and if she got sick? Oh well. Better not slack off, or she'd risk that bastard's wrath.

And oh, was he wrathful. She didn't know where it had come from, all that anger and hate. The moment business hours were over he would start drinking, and that was when the smiling, wheedling facade he maintained for the few guests and customers they still had (all of whom Malon avoided like the plague, uncomfortable with their stares) disappeared. He threw things at her, sometimes. Grabbed her arm or her wrist hard enough to bruise and shook her. More than once he'd grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the ground, into furniture, or out of the house. All the while he spit venom, calling her stupid and lazy and ugly and worthless. Pathetic child, he'd taunt, alone and helpless and doomed to work herself to death, and then the ranch would truly be his entirely. She wondered sometimes why he didn't just kill her if he wanted her gone so much.

She learned to tune him out much of the time, to make herself hear only the way his words slurred together until they were unintelligible. But there's only so much a human heart can do to shield itself from that kind of violence and vitriol. She tried to save her tears, and she managed more often than not, but that didn't mean she didn't hurt.

* * *

One day she was doing spring cleaning at Ingo's demand, cleaning out an old, dusty storage shed that hadn't been touched in several years. Of course, he was intent on selling anything that would earn so much as a few rupees, but for Malon it was a glimpse into a time she'd only heard stories about, of things that had taken place before she was born. All of this should have belonged to her someday, and knowing it would be sold stung more than a little.

In working to complete this task, however, she did uncover two items of particular value to her, and she took great pains to smuggle them away from Ingo and hide them in the loft of the barn. One was a necklace she was certain had belonged to her mother, a delicate blue stone in the shape of a teardrop hung from a simple cord.

The other was a bow and quiver which had belonged to her father in his youth, when he had wanted to be a soldier. It wasn't until she spotted it wrapped up in a corner collecting dust that she remembered him telling her, laughing, that he bought it before realizing he had no talent with the damn thing. He had meant to sell it or give it away, but he forgot, and in storage it had stayed. It was in good condition, all things considered, and that night up in the loft she strung it. She lifted it, left hand on the wood and right hand on the string, drew it back, and released. It felt...strangely natural. She really only knew what she'd seen at competitions during one or two fairs at Castle Town, and yet…

She decided then and there that she would learn to shoot, even if she had to teach herself. She would not be helpless anymore.


End file.
